


Occupational Hazards

by avalonjoan



Series: Inside Your Head, Inside Your Heart [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Caretaking, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Take Your Fandom to Work Day, concussion, grown men being uncomfortable and slightly homo, it's what the kids used to call 'pre-slash', medical setting, or what i like to call, psychiatry residents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-29 19:43:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6390706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/avalonjoan/pseuds/avalonjoan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Intern Dr. Eric Bittle works the evening call shift on the psychiatry service with the brilliant yet private chief resident Dr. Jack Zimmermann.  Eric ends up with an unruly patient, and Jack makes sure his colleague is okay.</p><p>Written for 'Take Your Fandom To Work Day.'  This totally counts as studying for my end of rotation exam, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Occupational Hazards

**Author's Note:**

> So, for transparency's sake: I'm not a psych resident. I'm a PA student doing a psych rotation right now, so I chill with the residents, and the four-year structure of their program lent itself to the four-year college structure. And no, this doesn't usually happen at work. I just needed something akin to checking, and an excuse for Jack to worry.

Dr. Eric Bittle put his bag down in the psychiatry department residents’ room, picked out a chair that wasn’t completely broken, and dragged it over to one of the workstations. He logged on to the computer and pulled up the signout list, looking at tasks that needed to be completed for patients over the weekend. Fortunately, there was nothing more than checking a lithium level the next morning on Ms. Kelly on the fifth floor. He still had to go renew inpatient orders, and the sixth floor was getting a direct admission from another hospital later on, but aside from that, it all depended on how many psych consults the emergency room called in during the night.

The door to the residents’ room flew open, and Dr. Jack Zimmermann came in, looking as serious as ever, simply nodding at Eric in greeting. Along with all of the other interns, Eric both looked up to and was deeply intimidated by the third-year chief resident. He was a phenomenal clinician, and seemed to have all the latest research before anyone else. Rumors still surrounded him and the reason why he took a year off before residency; word from his classmates ranged from a drinking problem to a year ‘finding himself’ in the Canadian wilderness, but no one dared ask for the real story. The comparison to Dr. House had been made more than once—Dr. Zimmermann was a genius with a mysterious past and a standoffish nature. He addressed everyone by their title, ‘Doctor This’ and ‘Ms. So-and-so,’ even the Russian attending that everyone called by his last initial because his name was notoriously difficult to pronounce.

After renewing the constant observation orders for high-risk patients on the units, Eric and Jack went back to the residents’ room and worked on their notes. They didn’t talk much—Eric knew that it took a few hours for Jack to warm up enough to chat with anyone—so when the pager sounded in the silent room, Eric jumped in his seat.

“My Lord,” he muttered, looking at Jack for information. Eric didn’t have a pager of his own, since he wasn’t there for the full overnight, just short-call until ten.

“I think you should see this patient,” Jack said, calmly scrolling through the page, “He’s a thirty-six-year-old man who came in with anxiety, but according to his wife, he’s had delusions of persecution for the past six months.”

Of course Jack wanted him to see the patient. In the beginning of his intern year, they had all gotten together to discuss strengths and weaknesses, and Eric had ended up telling the residents about how a paranoid patient had pulled himself out of restraints while in Eric’s ambulance. Eric had been driving, and even though he pulled over and called for police, his partner still ended up with a nasty cut to her face where the guy had punched her. He spent his med school psych rotation trying to minimize his contact with the floridly psychotic patients, but now that he was a resident, he knew he had to deal with his fear.

Nodding, Eric stood. “Yeah, I can see him.”

Surprisingly, Jack stood as well. “I’ll come with you, in case you need anything.”

Eric would have protested the insinuation that he wasn’t able to handle the case on his own, but any extra time with Dr. Zimmermann wasn’t something to turn down. Even when they weren’t talking medicine, after Jack loosened up, it was clear that he was a good guy as well as an excellent doctor. He and Eric discovered a shared love of hockey one night when they waited for security to come assist with a restrained patient, and Eric often went back to that topic, just for en excuse to keep chatting with the other man.

They took the stairs down to the emergency room and found the patient, taking a look through the records on the computer before Eric went in to perform his assessment. The patient was seated on the stretcher in a hospital gown and non-slip socks. Eric positioned himself in front of the door, ensuring he had a way to get out if he needed to. He introduced himself and started the interview, asking first about the anxiety, then moving on to the patient’s concerns about being followed by the government.

“We’d like to bring you into the hospital and start you on some new medication to help you with your constant worry about these people following you,” he explained, after all his own questions had been answered, “Just for a few days. I think you’ll find you can go about your job and your family life a lot better once you’re not so focused on this.”

He did exactly what he had seen his attending physicians do—not directly confront the patient about his delusions, but start by addressing the anxiety that they caused. This usually worked well—people understood that they were fearful all the time, and often took the opportunity to get relief from that. And then, after a few days of antipsychotics, they started to realize that the grocery clerks and delivery people weren’t actually spying on them.

Instead, this patient raised his voice, saying that he didn’t want to stop worrying, he wanted to stop being watched. Eric held his hands up in front of himself, trying to show that he didn’t mean any offense. He started to re-word his original statement, but the man lunged at Eric, shouting that he was “one of them.” Eric didn’t have time to react—even with the door so close by, the patient managed to get to him before he could get to safety. Striking his head on the doorframe when the man shoved him, Eric sunk to the floor.

Past that, everything was muffled and hazy. He heard shouts from security as they wrestled the man back into the room and put him in restraints. Jack’s voice appeared, calling for five of Haldol, two of Ativan, and fifty of Benadryl, the standard chemical restraint injection. Someone dragged Eric out of the room, holding him by his scrubs, and helped him onto a stretcher. He felt himself being moved, ending up in a nearly identical emergency room bay as the one he had come from.

A nurse helped him take off his white coat and took his vital signs. Different doctors asked him questions, had him look around and touch his finger to his nose, and decided he didn’t need a CT scan of his head. Someone else came in to have him sign an incident report and give him a paper with occupational health’s phone number on it. A nurse gave him Tylenol and shut off the light. He fell asleep, or at least closed his eyes for long enough to think he was sleeping.

 

* * *

 

When he woke up, there was someone in the room with him. Jack was sitting in the corner with a mobile workstation illuminating his face with blue light, clicking away softly on the keyboard. Eric tried to sit up, groaning at the sudden dizziness that came with movement.

Jack was at his side, positioning the pillow and covering him up again with the blanket. Even in the low light, Eric could see concern written on the other’s face—his brow furrowed, his mouth a thin line. After a few seconds, Jack said quietly, “How’s your head?”

Eric’s words came out thick and slow. “Hurts.”

“Do you need something more for pain management?” he asked. “Your doctor gave me his pager number.”

Shaking his head, and immediately regretting the movement, Eric replied, “I’m fine. It’s gonna hurt no matter what.”

There was a long pause before Jack breathed, “I’m sorry, Eric.”

“Not your fault.”

“I didn’t realize that he was so labile—I should have gone with you to perform the assessment.” Jack’s voice was pressured, and unfortunately, getting louder.

Eric reached out in the dark and found Jack’s hand. “I know you’re trying to help, but, maybe, could you just not talk right now?” he managed, “Too much sound.”

“Oh.” Jack ran his thumb back and forth over Eric’s hand, which was quite possibly the most affectionate gesture that Eric had ever witnessed the other perform. “Page me if you need anything.”

“You don’t have to leave,” Eric said, “You just need to be quiet.”

Squeezing Eric’s hand before pulling his own away, Jack nodded. “I can finish my notes here.” He walked back over to the wheeled computer and sat down. “Go back to sleep, Eric.”

 

* * *

  

After a few hours of observation, the ER physician decided that Eric was ready for discharge. “Do you have someone to check up on you at home?”

Slowly, Eric nodded. His roommate, a critical care resident, would be getting off of his overnight shift in a few hours, and could make sure Eric hadn’t suddenly developed a brain bleed. What he didn’t have was a way to get home—his shift was supposed to end hours ago and he had planned on taking the subway, which stopped running at midnight. “Gonna be one heck of a cab ride to Medford,” he said under his breath as the doctor left.

After Eric signed his discharge paperwork, he brought his legs over the edge of the bed but didn’t try to stand just yet. Jack was still sitting in the corner of the room, and Eric asked, “Could you get my things from the consult room, please?”

Jack stood and walked over to the bed, sitting down next to Eric. “I can do that, but—I know you’d probably prefer your own bed, but it’s almost two, and—” He paused, then said all in one breath, “You can stay in the on-call room, and I can drive you home when my shift ends, if you’d like.”

Weighing his options didn’t take long—the on-call room meant a bed in a few minutes, instead of however long it took to get a cab home. He hummed in the affirmative, adding, “Where will you sleep?”

Jack shrugged. “I’ve got a few things I still have to handle. Another patient in the ER suddenly started hearing voices when they heard that all the detox beds were full.” Jack shook his head and sighed—it was an easy way to get a bed for the night and access to detox medication, and Eric had seen all too much of it in his first year. “I wanted to make sure you were okay before I wasted my time with that.”

Eric opened his eyes enough to look at the other, one eyebrow raised. Jack still looked worried—he wasn’t a complete asshole by any means, but Eric hadn’t expected him to be so involved. Closing his eyes again, the light from the corridor still too bright, he nodded. “Okay. Can you walk with me? I’m still a little dizzy.”

“You’re not walking anywhere.” Eric realized how much he’d been leaning on Jack when the other disappeared and Eric just barely managed to keep himself from tumbling off the bed. The older man reappeared a few moments later, engaging the brakes on a wheelchair. He helped Eric off the bed and kept one hand on his waist as he took the few steps to the chair and sat down. Taking the blanket off the bed, he draped it over Eric’s lap, making sure the edges didn’t drag on the floor or get caught in the wheels.  

Eric kept his eyes closed for the trip up to the psych offices, and stayed in the wheelchair as Jack unfolded the bed in the corner of the on-call room. Once again, he held onto Jack for stability as he walked across the room and curled up on the mattress. Jack covered him with the blanket, reminded Eric to page him if anything changed, and disappeared, closing the door behind him.

 

* * *

  

Eric woke up to the sound of the door creaking open, hurriedly closing, and fast-paced whispers in the hallway. His head hurt a little less than it had a few hours ago, and the light coming in through the window wasn’t too offensive. He sat up and threw the blanket off of himself.

The blanket tugged itself back up, accompanied by a quiet whine. Eric looked at the sliver of bed he had left unoccupied to find Jack fast asleep, shoes still on. Even with the commotion in the room, he didn’t show any signs of waking. Careful not to disturb him further, Eric slid out of bed and tiptoed to the door, opening it just enough to step outside.

Two of the second-year residents were huddled by the lockers, Dr. Adam Birkholtz talking to a shocked Dr. Justin Oluransi. Eric made eye contact with Adam as he exited the on-call room and the other quieted immediately. Eric walked over to them, pleasantly surprised at how easy walking was—not the worst concussion he could have gotten—and leaned on the wall of lockers.

“What happened last night?” Adam asked, looking Eric up and down.

“Combative patient threw me into a wall.”

“Shit,” Justin muttered, “You okay?”

Eric nodded. “I slept here all night, and Jack—Dr. Zimmermann—he’s gonna drive me home, but I’ll be out for a day or two.”

“Speaking of which, can you grab the pager from him? I’d get it myself, but seeing as you’ve managed to get closer to him than anyone else has…” Adam trailed off, sounding a little sheepish, but also a little curious. Eric chose not to explain any more, partly because he was still tired, and partly because he wanted to keep some of last night for himself.

Going back into the room, Eric first looked at the desk that was near the bed of the bed for the pager—it wasn’t there. That meant that it was somewhere on Jack’s person. Most people clipped it to their belt or the waistband of their scrubs, but Eric wasn’t about to go searching there. He leaned over Jack to see if it was on his collar, the favored place for residents who were nervous about missing a page.

Sure enough, it was there. Eric reached around and did his best to unclip it without disturbing the other man. Just when he thought he had successfully removed the device, Jack rolled onto his back, eyes half-open, looking up at Eric. When he spoke, his words flowed together like he was just barely awake enough to form words. “How are you feeling?”

Eric smiled, nodding. “I’m okay. Just giving your pager to the consult team.”

Visibly struggling to keep his eyes open, Jack went on, “You should take more Tylenol.”

With his free hand, Eric tugged at the blanket that had slipped off Jack’s shoulder. He gently hushed Jack, running his hand over the covers as he adjusted them. “I will, Dr. Zimmermann, don’t you worry.”

“Jack,” the other mumbled, rolling onto his side.

“Alright,” Eric replied, slowly drawing his hand across the other’s chest toward his shoulder before pulling back, “You had a long night, Jack. Go back to sleep.”

 


End file.
